Michael Sharp
The Remains of a Drought
When the bus arrives in Miches,
the tulip trees are out.
RamÃrez runs the whorehouse now,
don’t flick around with him.
That’s his woman behind the bar,
the tigress with the hips.
The generator came last week:
the Presidente’s cold.
There’s a clinic for minor scrapes,
the Hot Spot sells good crack.
Tono’s hearse is up on blocks,
the cops have all been bought.
There are no bodies hidden here,
no-one has disappeared,
there are no mothers in the square.
the Club Med’s over there.
Page(s) 37
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